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  DEMON LOST

  High Demon Series, Book 1

  Connie Suttle

  For Walter and Joe, as usual.

  And for Larry and Alfred. Thank you so much for your support!

  Very special thanks to my cover artist, Renee, at The Cover Counts!

  Demon Lost, copyright © 2012 by Connie Suttle

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed within its digital pages are purely fictitious and a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (or vampires, werewolves, High Demons, Larentii, shapeshifters, Ra'Ak, wizards, warlocks or gods) living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book, whole or in part, MAY NOT be copied or reproduced by electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying or the implementation of any type of storage or retrieval system) without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Other books by Connie Suttle

  (Blood Destiny Series)

  Blood Wager

  Blood Passage

  Blood Sense

  Blood Domination

  Blood Royal

  Blood Queen

  Blood Rebellion

  Blood War

  Blood Redemption

  Blood Reunion

  (Legend of the Ir'Indicti Series)

  Bumble

  Shadowed

  Target

  Vendetta

  Destroyer*

  (High Demon Series)

  Demon Lost

  Demon Revealed*

  Demon's King*

  *Forthcoming

  Chapter 1

  Prologue

  "Jayd, we have to find Kifirin's tears."

  "Glindarok, my love, what are you talking about?" Jaydevik Rath, King of the High Demons, looked up from a pile of reports sitting on his desk. Glinda stood before him, beautiful as always, the river of white-blonde hair she'd inherited from her mother cascading about her shoulders. Carefully, Jayd covered the top report with a hand.

  "Jayd, don't bother trying to hide it," Glinda's blue eyes flashed a warning. "How many did we lose to Baetrah this time?"

  "Sixty-three, most from Greth," Jayd sighed. "I should know better than to hide anything from you."

  "The High Demons are dying," Glinda muttered regretfully and dropped onto a chair beside Jayd's. "I hoped Jase and Jehrie might conceive as soon as they were mated, but that wasn't the case. The High Demon houses are losing hope, Jaydevik. They see no new females coming to them and that spells doom for all of Kifirin. That's why we must find the jewels my father called Kifirin's tears. My father always said that Kifirin hid them in the palace somewhere, and that we'd find them when our salvation was at hand. I felt sure we'd find them after Lissa fought off the Ra'Ak, but they never turned up. What if it's just a myth, Jayd? What if there's nothing to save us, now? Le-Ath Veronis is the balance for all the worlds instead of Kifirin. What if there's nothing that can bring us back?" Glinda wiped away tears as she stared at her husband.

  "Come here, my love," Jayd pulled Glinda into his lap. "Kifirin made a promise to me when the balance was moved from the High Demons to the vampires. He told me he would do whatever was necessary to keep our race alive. We have to trust him, I think."

  "I hope he does something soon, then," Glinda buried her head against Jayd's shoulder. "We've lost so many already."

  * * *

  Part I

  "Addah will be here tomorrow."

  Those words from my brother Edan told me much. It was time for the annual conscription notices and one of us would be sent to the military. The notices were sent to the heads of households and Addah, our father, would come to tell us who would be sent. Edan was my second oldest brother and outside the age to be taken, but Wald, Ilvan and I were all eligible. I was barely eligible at nineteen turns, but still eligible, all the same.

  "This is no excuse to let your minds wander," Edan snapped, bringing me back to reality and forcing me to mind my sauce. The four of us worked at our father's second restaurant in Shirves, and many times we'd gotten better reviews than the first restaurant in the capital city of Targis, where my father worked as master cook.

  I was third from last of my father's twenty-seven children from eight wives—and the only daughter. Addah often boasted that he knew how to breed sons. Sons were master cooks. Addah's only daughter—me—could only hope to be what I was—an assistant.

  I'm sure it would mean nothing to Addah Desh that his only daughter had designed the recipes for most of the popular dishes served at number two. All the credit went to my brother Edan. I had no voice in the family since my mother had the misfortune to die in childbirth. I was her only child, farmed out for servants to raise until I reached the age of eight.

  Edan's mother, Marzi, was first wife, though it irked her greatly that second wife Farla had produced the first son. First son Fes worked at Desh's number one with Father and received much praise and credit. Edan was overcome with jealousy about Father's treatment of Fes, until Desh's number two started getting better reviews. Now it was a contest between Edan and Fes, while the rest of us stood back and watched the rivalry. Desh's numbers three through five couldn't even compete.

  "Reah, you will cook the yaris fish that Father is so fond of tomorrow," Edan's mouth was next to my ear. I wasn't sure why he bothered to whisper—everybody in the kitchen knew who cooked that dish. "Do it well, or you'll be beaten," he added. Also something everybody in the kitchen knew. Edan was past thirty-eight turns and had been beating me since I'd been handed to him after my eighth birthday.

  After a broken wrist and multiple cracked ribs, Edan learned to save the hard blows—those came when he felt he could get away with it and not be questioned by medical personnel at the nearby hospital. Edan always told Father I was clumsy and accident-prone. I did my best to be neither. Sadly, Edan's contempt and abusive treatment left the door open for cruelties from Wald and a few of the others. Some of the kitchen help taunted me at times, too, although they held back from any physical abuse. They never attempted to outguess Edan's polarities on the issue.

  I added wine to the sauce while Wald mused on what he might do for the Alliance's army. "We might cook for the High General," Wald smiled over his sautéed onions. "That would certainly please Father." Wald and Ilvan both lived for the day when Father noticed them. Edan always received the attention. As for me—I was waiting for the day Father married me off to someone. I hoped it would be someone who didn't think beating a small woman was sport—someone who lived in another city so Edan could no longer get his hands on me.

  * * *

  "Edan, the yaris fish was exceptional, as always," father beamed at Edan. Edan, Wald, Ilvan and I all stood inside the office behind the kitchen at Desh's number two. Father sat behind the desk as the ranking family member. I'm sure Edan didn't like it one bit—he'd taken money from the restaurant to decorate his office with a handmade desk, rich rugs and wall hangings. I had only vague memories of what Father's office looked like at Desh's number one—I hadn't been there in eleven turns.

  "Now, on to business," Father was smiling and drawing a small comp-vid from his pocket. "As you know, the Alliance sends out the conscription notices every spring. This year, we have a family member selected." I looked sideways at Wald and Ilvan—both expected to be chosen. They may have wanted to get away from Edan as much as I did, although he never laid a hand on them.

  I turned my eyes back to my father. I looked nothing like him. He had dark, thinning hair atop a wide face that turned pink with exertion when he worked in a hot kitchen. Father wasn't heavy and his dark-brown eyes would sometimes twinkle when he spoke with Edan or some of his regular customers. They never twinkled at me.r />
  I'd had the temerity to be born with nearly white hair—the hair belonging to my mother. I also had her green eyes instead of Father's brown. I'd never met any of my mother's family—didn't know if any still existed. When my mother died, the other wives had seen to it that every memory of her had been wiped away. Father was left with seven wives and twenty-seven children. Now, at age eighty-nine, he was in his prime, since inhabitants of the Alliance world of Tulgalan lived to be nearly two hundred.

  "I think you will all be pleased with the Alliance's choice, since it will not impact the family," father was still smiling and looking at my brothers. An icy finger began to crawl its way down my spine. Father turned to me. "They have chosen Reah, and they assure me that she can help in their kitchens, since she is not tall enough to carry weapons or repair machinery." A moment was all I had to stare at my father before I fell to the floor in a dead faint.

  * * *

  Whining to Edan was futility at its best, so I didn't try. He'd slapped a comp-vid in front of me as I sat beside his desk two days later. "I don't care how many times you've written out the recipes, write them again," he demanded. "And include every bit of instruction on what to add when. Desh's two will not suffer merely because the Alliance chose to take you away for six years."

  I didn't bother to look up at my second oldest brother, or sigh, even, which is what I wanted to do. The truth is, I was terrified of my brother. He'd hurt me too many times. Broken too many bones, slammed me into too many walls. He looked like Father, too, and that was a tremendous help as far as Father was concerned. It helped not at all with the women he saw occasionally. The moment they found out what he was truly like, they deserted him as quickly as they could. I couldn't blame them—if Edan hadn't threatened to kill me several times, I would have run away long ago. Capturing my lower lip in my teeth to keep it from trembling, I began to tap recipes into Edan's comp-vid.

  Chapter 2

  "Recruit Desh, your performance during preliminary training is exemplary, but you understand that your height and weight are against you." I stood before the post commander as he read my report on the handheld lying on his desk. My height and weight were indeed against me. I didn't come to the commander's shoulder and struggled to carry the heavy gear we bore on training exercises. "In most cases, we might have sent you home if you hadn't shown such determination," the commander went on.

  He had silver in his red hair and someday it would all be a silvery white. I'd watched people during my short life—all kinds wandered into Desh's. The ones I watched the closest were the ones I envied the most—fathers and mothers with children who were loved. Not the ones who were coddled and spoiled, but the ones who received a smile and praise when it was deserved. The ones who received careful guidance otherwise. I'd never had that and often dreamed about it.

  "I am proud to serve the Alliance," I lied to the commander, my head down. That was how I knew to talk to males. Edan had seen to that. Truthfully, I had no desire to go back to Edan and his mistreatment. The shouting and verbal abuse from my Alliance instructors was nothing compared to what Edan could dish out.

  "I am aware of you background," the commander added. Of course he was. There probably wasn't a soul alive on Tulgalan who wasn't. Desh's was the place to take your wives or your promised. The upper middle class frequented Desh's for special occasions; the wealthy came to Desh's more often than that. End-days were always crowded, with tables covered in linen, snowy napkins and silver polished to its brightest shine.

  "Therefore," and I heard the expected words from my commander as if I were listening through cotton wool, "we will be sending you to work in the kitchen that serves the Governor of the Realm." His last four words made my head jerk upward. A commander or lesser general I might have expected. Not the Governor of the Realm. What did they expect from me? Even Father had pulled me into Edan's office before he left, warning me not to give away family recipes. He didn't think I knew any, but he wanted to be sure. His threats were nothing compared to those Edan handed out. Edan's promise to end my life if anything got out—including his abuse—was heartfelt and heeded.

  "I thank you for the position," I stammered. Saluting the commander after he dismissed me, I walked out of his office and down the hall, feeling numb.

  Two days later, my duffle of meager belongings slung over a shoulder, I shuffled aboard a transport bound for the capital city. Desh's number one was there, and Targis teemed with people. More than ten millions lived in the city and surrounding areas. Only dim memories of the city itself remained with me, however. I hadn't seen it in person since I was eight and shoved onto ground transportation, traveling to the nearby city of Shirves and my brother Edan. The trip from the training base to the capital city wasn't very long; even so, I was tired when I arrived and found the hoverbus scheduled to deliver me to the Governor's complex. Ushered into the Governor's kitchen by an Alliance officer who'd met me at the gate, I was introduced to the master cook and his two assistants.

  "Master cook Vyn, this is Reah Desh," the officer gave my full name, causing me to blush to the roots of my hair. Any hope of remaining anonymous was lost with that introduction. The two kitchen assistants, Leetha and Morane, saved their glares until the officer left us. Of course, master cook Vyn didn't hold back, either.

  "If you expect to come here and flaunt your name in front of us, then you are sadly mistaken," Vyn snapped immediately. "You will do as I tell you and nothing more. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Master Vyn." My head was down, just as it had been for Edan all those years. Any aspirations I might have held regarding experimentation and designing new recipes flew away. I was foolish to hope. It had never brought me anything but pain. I would likely be set to peeling root vegetables or cleaning the kitchen. My hands were clasped tightly together to stop their trembling. I hoped that Master Vyn didn't hand out slaps or blows with his instructions.

  Peeling and slicing vegetables was exactly what I did for Master Vyn. Leetha and Morane provided nasty little digs the entire time while they sat at a small table against a wall and drank tea while watching me work. I was exhausted by the time I finished cleaning the kitchen late that first evening.

  If verbal barbs had been all that Leetha and Morane were capable of handing out, then my life might have been manageable. The fifth day I worked in the Governor's kitchen, I cleaned it after all the dishes and cooking utensils had been washed and put away. Master cook Vyn was waiting for me and shouting the moment I walked into the kitchen the following morning.

  Flour, sugar and salt had been scattered over every surface of the kitchen. I stood in the doorway, my shock and dismay evident as I surveyed the sabotage. There was no doubt in my mind as to who'd actually done this. I was going to take the blame, however, if Master Vyn had anything to say about it. Truly, I wanted to ask him to send me elsewhere. Almost anywhere would do. He and his two assistants were almost as unbearable as Edan.

  Wordlessly, I went to the pantry to find the mopvac. Why would he think that I would do this, when it only made more work for me? Perhaps he was a part of it—how was I to know? I cleaned while Master Vyn shouted. Breakfast for the Governor would be late if Master Vyn didn't stop soon. When he didn't, I went to get the eggs out of the keeper myself and set about putting something together for the Governor and his family.

  Master Vyn continued to shout the entire time I shaved ham and carefully laid it over the roundbread I'd made. Gently cooked eggs and my own sauce recipe followed, with sides of sliced, fresh fruit. By that time, the servant had come for the tray, which I gladly handed to him. He wanted to get out of hearing distance just as much as I did. Then I set about cleaning up what I'd used to prepare breakfast, hoping that Master Vyn would run down soon. Eventually, he did.

  Leetha and Morane had come in by that time—Vyn never said anything to them when they showed up late. Vyn also didn't suspect that I knew they were all sleeping together. I would have treated it as no concern of mine if it hadn't meant worse treatmen
t for me. I supposed that after their late night of destroying my clean kitchen, they needed the extra rest.

  Vyn stood with his arms folded, glaring at me while I prepared the midday meal and then fish for dinner. The streamfish was crusted with herbs and spices, then delicately fried before the drizzle of browned butter sauce was applied. Sautéed snap beans and other vegetables, accompanied by fresh, crusty butter rolls, were sent to the Governor's table. I cleaned up the kitchen afterward while Leetha and Morane sat at their usual table drinking tea and gossiping. Vyn had left the kitchen the moment the trays were sent out.

  "I hope you don't have to clean up another mess tomorrow," Leetha's voice was as falsely sweet as artificial sugar as she and Morane walked out of the kitchen while I mopped the floor.

  "I won't, tomorrow is my off-day," I retorted before thinking. I recognized the look she gave me before she disappeared through the door. It held the promise of future revenge for imaginary slights.

  * * *

  I didn't go inside Desh's number one as I walked the streets of Targis on off-day. Instead, I walked past the restaurant—twice. I held no expectations of a father happy to see his only daughter, or of an offered meal to a member of the family. It was an end-day and reservations would be required. I wouldn't even get a corner of the kitchen and a meal.

  Sad, I know, that I had a family such as this. A bookstore stood across the street, with flashing images of the latest in both fiction and nonfiction. Settling in one of the free news kiosks inside the store, I did a search on all the news-vids concerning the family restaurants since I'd left for the military three months before. Since then, the annual reviews had come out so I settled in to read them.